


Turquoise Blue

by Manuka



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood and Injury, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Near Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29901474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manuka/pseuds/Manuka
Summary: "Cullen couldn’t remember when he had heard about “colours” for the first time, but he was very young. At first, he had thought it was something forbidden, considering the way people whispered the term as if it was some kind of secret knowledge only a few fortunate were allowed to speak about."(Or: the soulmate AU nobody asked for)
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Turquoise Blue

Cullen couldn’t remember when he had heard about “colours” for the first time, but he was very young. At first, he had thought it was something forbidden, considering the way people whispered the term as if it was some kind of secret knowledge only a few fortunate were allowed to speak about.

But one day his mother had talked about it, and he had realised it was far more enthralling than what he had expected. The world around him wasn’t actually made of shades of grey, but was full of extraordinary and various tints. It had seemed surreal, and even many years after, he still struggled to understand what colours were like.

His mother had tried to explain as best as she could, but it was disconcerting. Apparently, some colours were warm and others cold, some were gentle and some so bright they could hurt the eyes.

Even if he couldn’t perceive them, he had learnt to associate colours with things: green was grass and leaves when there was sun and rain, and they turned brown with dryness and winter. Water was blue, as well as the sky; the sun was yellow, cereals ready for harvest too. True white was as cold as the snow and the night was deep blue, almost black.

In his young and naive opinion, colours seemed very beautiful.

“I hope you will see them, someday,” his mother had said to him with a gentle smile, slowly stroking his cheek.

“But when?” he had asked, eager to _know_.

“When you will meet the one the Maker has destined to you.”

And so, he had learnt about soulmates. It was an even stranger concept than colours; two people –sometimes more, but it was rarer apparently- bound by the Maker’s will, their souls entwined, destined to love and support each other from the day they met until their last breath.

It had amazed him; there was someone out there for him, someone who shared a part of his heart and soul. It was overwhelming, and he had shivered with excitement.

“What about the colours?” he had asked, still uncertain.

“This is how you will recognize your soulmate,” his mother had answered softly. “The moment your eyes will meet, the world will no longer be bland, but bright and amazing. It is a wonderful feeling, Cullen, one I hope you will experiment one day.”

He hadn’t understood why his mother “hoped”; if the Maker had decided to bound two people together, then they would obviously meet each other, right? But when he had seen a map of Thedas, he had been struck by reality: the world was far more wide than he had expected, and his city was just a dot on the large sheet of paper. His soulmate could be absolutely anywhere.

He had cried, that night. He had still been a boy, but he had understood nonetheless that he might never find the other half of himself. Why had the Maker created beautiful things such as colours and soulmates if he was to never know them? It was unfair, and sad. His mother had tried to reassure him, but the unforgiving truth remained: some people never saw colours in their lives and died surrounded by grey. He could be one of them.

He had been mildly curious about soulmates, after that. He didn’t want to end up like some people, driven mad by the idea of never finding their soulmate. He didn’t need someone to be his own self, after all, and his life couldn’t rely solely on a promise of happiness with someone he might never meet. Besides, one couldn’t miss colours if they had never seen them.

He had grown up and had decided to become a Templar. He had left his small town behind with no regrets apart from being away from his family. It was his chance to do something good, to help and protect people. He had found his purpose and was happy to feel he could be useful, with or without a soulmate. Actually, it was even better not to have one, according to the training instructors: their mind and heart belonged to the Maker and the Chantry, and they needed to be clear-headed to tend to their duties.

There were rumours, though. Apparently, the Circles made sure none of their Templars and Mages were bound; if it was the case, the Circle used it to threaten them both and avoid any problem.

The day Cullen arrived at the Circle Tower and had to meet all its Mages, he had been terrified, a knot in his stomach so tight he nearly got sick. Never before had he wished this hard not to find his soulmate; Maker be blessed, no colours had suddenly appeared around him.

He doubted he would have been able to handle his soulmate being one of the Mages he was supposed to supervise and protect –and kill, should it come to it.

Time flew by, and one day, the Circle Tower fell, taking with it his comrades, his confidence, his certainties, and every bit of pride he had in him. He had failed and he was hurt far more deeply than any wound could.

Broken, he was sent to Kirkwall, which was a bit too much like him: the pale and hollow shadow of what it was supposed to be. Nothing was right but no-one did anything about it.

He felt like some kind of walking corpse, sometimes; alive but not really, afraid of sleeping and so, so empty. He still wanted to do good, but how could he? How? And Maker, did he hate himself for that, for being nothing but a mess.

Years later, he would hear Leliana say that the Maker had a very strange sense of humour, and he would agree wholeheartedly with her statement. Because it was during his time at Kirkwall, when he had the feeling he was on the verge of falling with no hope of return, that he met his soulmate.

He didn’t patrol a lot anymore since he had been appointed Knight-Captain, but Kirkwall’s city walls were suffocating. He had offered to go to the coast with a few men, and as soon as he had been able to send them scouting ahead, he had told them to. Once alone, he just walked, his mind completely blank, barely watching his surroundings; until he suddenly noticed a silhouette nearby. He could only see the back of the thin body, as well as long, pale hair that barely touched the hips.

“My lady, the coast is dangerous,” he called. “You should head back to Kirkwall.”

Startled, she spun on her heels to face him –was she walking bare feet? Their eyes met, and the world shattered.

It was like an explosion. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Cullen stumbled, obliged to close his eyes in pain. His heart beating faster than it ever had before, he lifted his head, tears blurring his sight; it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

The place where the young woman was standing not a few seconds ago was now empty, and for the first time in his entire life, he was able to see colours.

In a state between astonishment, panic and sickness, he tried to find footsteps or any sign that could lead him to her, but there was nothing, and the sun was so _yellow_ it hurt. His men found him looking around almost frantically, but when they asked if they could help him in any way, he put a mask of composure back on and denied. The walk back to Kirkwall was deadly silent, and that night, he collapsed on his bed laughing and crying at the same time.

Kirkwall would be the death of what remained of him.

The next morning, he went back to the coast; less troubled by the amount of blues, greens and browns that were spreading in front of him, he watched the sea with wide eyes, in awe. It was beautiful.

He couldn’t find any more clues about his soulmate than the day before, though. He was angry with himself he couldn’t properly see her face, or anything that could help him find her, but it had happened so fast. And why had she run away so quickly? He understood perfectly it was scary, but a part of him felt at a loss.

Squatting down where she had been standing, he touched the ground thoughtfully. Her long pale hair couldn’t be the only thing he would know about her. Walking bare feet was definitely not something any human would do; was she an elf? He didn’t know if his mind was toying with him, but he could almost figure long and pointy ears hidden by the long locks that had been moving with the wind. He hadn’t had a good look at her clothes, but from memory, they were practical, tight breeches that looked like those the Dalish wore.

He got back up, his lips pinched. He would find her.

He didn’t, of course. Life had decided it was due time to do shit once again, and things started to go from bad to catastrophic far too quickly. Oh, he had somehow seen that coming, when he was still in this weird numbness that was draining all of his energy. Kirkwall had been ready to explode –figuratively- for months, Meredith had acted weirder and weirder, so something was bound to happen.

Seeing the Chantry blow up in shades of grey was certainly already a lot, but with colours? It was terrifying. He had had some time to adjust having his world bright and intense; but now that he could plainly see what a wound or blood looked like, he doubted colours were a gift. Red lyrium was frightening, Meredith’s mad blue eyes were even more. 

When Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, came to Kirkwall days later and offered to recruit him and what was left of Kirkwall’s Templars to join the Inquisition, he agreed without thinking twice. 

The Templar Order was not anymore, the war between Templars and Mages was menacing to tear Thedas apart; maybe the Inquisition could actually help, maybe it was his chance to do something good with his life at last.

The Breach was another proof that whatever the Maker had planned, it was to put them all to the test. Glowing in a sick green tint, cold and hard to the eye, that thing in the sky was far worse than anything he had seen so far. Once again, Cullen wondered if life wasn’t less frightening in grey.

And then… Then the Herald. Andraste preserved him, the young man had the most incredible eyes in all Thedas. Turquoise blue, shining like gemstones, they were nothing but enhanced by the light grey Dalish tattoos running on his cheeks. They were absolutely captivating. He still wondered how he had managed to stay on his feet when Cassandra had introduced Aodren Lavellan to him and Josephine. His skin was pale, as well as his short hair; his clothes were simple but drew attention to his lean silhouette, especially his deep blue Dalish sleeveless coat embroidered with silver threads.

For once, Cullen was glad he could see colours.

He hadn’t told anyone he could see them, even if Leliana certainly knew already. Speaking about them would lead to a talk about his soulmate, and since that day on the coast, he had done his best not to think about her, at least not too often. But Aodren’s very presence was a challenge, and Cullen had lost count how many times he had looked into his eyes with awe, his heart beating foolishly in his chest like some kind of wild animal running frantically.

Each time he realised he was staring at the Herald, he forced himself to look away; he didn’t understand why he was drawn to the elf like this, but it wasn’t right. He was already bound to another one, and this infatuation was nothing but some stupid trick from his body betraying him.

Turning Aodren down was heart breaking, but he had to, for both their sakes. The look of hurt wouldn’t leave his mind for days, but he had to. He had to.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, fighting every fibre of his being not to take the Dalish in his arms and kiss him on the spot. “I already have a soulmate.”

If someone deserved to know, it was him. Aodren’s intense eyes widened at the confession, but then he simply nodded, a sad smile stretching his lips.

“I see. They are very lucky, then.”

Oh, he could laugh at the irony of this; the Maker certainly hated him. Why else would he try him, again, and again, and again, testing his strength and his will? He had always _tried_. He knew he had made mistakes and that he was oh so far from perfect. Was it because he didn’t believe hard enough? Because of Kirkwall? Should have he died at the Circle Tower?

He was lucky Aodren didn’t hold any grudge against him and spoke to him as amiably as ever. It didn’t stop them from arguing about recruiting the Mages anyway –the turquoise eyes shining with passion as the Dalish was obviously holding his anger back. Aodren’s eyes had always been very expressive; well, his whole being was expressive, truth be told. He moved his hands when he was excited about something, his face was full of emotions, even his ears twitched a lot. But his eyes, his eyes were something else entirely.

When Cullen saw the quiet acceptance in them as their Herald decided to stay behind at Haven and give them time to escape Corypheus, something shattered in him. It stayed engraved in his memory as he coordinated the evacuation with Cassandra and Leliana, and it plagued him for hours once they were safe in the makeshift camp.

The relief he felt when he was able to see those eyes again was overwhelming, and he promised himself he would never allow such an emotion to taint them again.

Their time at Skyhold was certainly some of the best months he had had in years. There was, of course, a huge amount of work to do, but things seemed to go rather well. Now that the Inquisition had a leader and that they knew their enemy, they could go forward, plan, prepare. Friendships grew and strengthened, and despite the difficulties and countless complications they had to face, they were doing good. They were acting, they were helping, and it was a balm onto Cullen’s old wounds.

He was healing, slowly but surely. The dark shadows under his eyes were less present and, surprisingly, he even noticed his cheeks were more coloured. Seeing himself in a mirror or a pane was not as strange as it once was –he could easily remember the first time he had seen the colour of his hair, a few days after his encounter with his soulmate. He had always imagined it a bit darker.

As their foolish party grew fond of each other, they spent more time together, eating, playing and talking. He hadn’t had a game of chess for years, and it was refreshing to beat Dorian or being challenged by Aodren.

They had never talked about soulmates since the day Cullen had rejected him as kindly as possible, so the Inquisitor’s question took him by surprise:

“Why are you here, Cullen?” Aodren asked, his eyes focused on the board.

“I beg your pardon?”

He lifted his gaze, locking it with Cullen’s who shifted slightly on his chair. Those piercing eyes would be the death of him, one day.

“Why are you here, and not with your soulmate?” he clarified, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brows. “Don’t you want to be with them rather than here?”

Cullen bit his lower lip, uncomfortable. Thinking about it was still painful, so how was he supposed to explain that his soulmate had ran away?

“I will meet her when things will be settled here,” he eventually answered.

Aodren nodded with a low hum, then smiled.

“You must be impatient.”

“What about you, if I may ask?” he suddenly said, feeling bolder than he ever had been before when soulmates were involved. “Have you found yours?”

“I have, yes.”

Cullen knew he shouldn’t be disappointed, that he should be happy and glad for his friend. Yet, he felt his heart clench in his chest, his stomach twisting heavily. Maker, he had a soulmate, they both had one; why did he feel so miserable?

“I’m happy for you, then,” he managed to reply, hoping his voice sounded normal. His throat was so tight.

Aodren gave him a small smile, his ears dropping slightly. They ended their game in silence.

That night, Cullen didn’t sleep well, his thoughts racing against his will. Knowing the Inquisitor, he would have never approached him at Haven if he had already met his soulmate; Aodren was fierce and loyal, he would never betray the other half of himself for a one-night stand. Had he offered a one-night stand? No, he shouldn’t think about that. He should have met them after that day, then. Maybe during a mission? If so, his soulmate would have come with him at Skyhold; unless they preferred to be cautious and keep their bound secret for now?  
What if it was one of their companions? But who? It couldn’t be Cassandra, nor Varric, Josie or Leliana. Solas? No, they talked a lot about the Fade and dreams, but they had met before that day. The Iron Bull, maybe? Or any of the Chargers? Vivienne, perhaps? Blackwall? Aodren sure interacted with them daily, but he didn’t seem to actively seek their company.

Could it be Dorian…? The two of them usually spent their spare time in the library, laughing and making snarky comments. He had heard that mother Giselle had tried to warn the Inquisitor about the Tevinter, and Aodren had apparently put her in her place quickly. They were definitely close.

It was certainly Dorian, of course. Cullen closed his eyes, pressing the palm of his hands onto his eyelids, and clenched his jaw. He should be happy for them, they deserved it. He had to.

Why had his soulmate run away?

It was unfair.

Days passed; and somehow they happened to go to Halamshiral to save Empress Celene. Cullen had always hated all things related to the Game, and the perspective of staying for an entire ball and being scrutinized by faceless people was only adding to his sour mood.

He would have preferred to help thwart the coup d’état rather than being annoyed by all these Orlesian ladies asking him personal and embarrassing questions, but he didn’t have a say and suffered in silence, trying to push them away with glares and frowns. Relief filled him when he saw the Inquisitor and the others come back to the main room, even if they all looked exhausted –especially Aodren. He hesitated joining him at the balcony; perhaps Dorian’s presence would be more welcomed than his, but the mage was having a drink with Varric, and the elf seemed almost defeated, his shoulders slumped as his arms were resting on the ledge of the balcony.

He came next to him, a sheepish smile stretching his lips.

“May I join you?”

“Of course!” Aodren met his gaze, his features showing his tiredness. “I always enjoy your company.”

Cullen’s heart jumped in his chest, and he cleared his throat quietly as he leaned beside him.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a concerned look.

“I’m just worn out. The night has been very long,” the Dalish replied with a sigh. “It’s over, at least.”

“You did well,” Cullen answered. “You did more than well, even. You saved the Empress, and you basically saved Orlais.”

“Yeah, saving people is apparently something I’m getting good at,” Aodren grinned. “And it seems you managed to get rid of your fan club; we can both be proud of our evening’s personal achievements.”

The man rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a smile; the elf laughed, elbowing him playfully. They stayed in a comfortable silence after that, looking at the gardens below while music was playing in the background.

How would it feel, to dance with Aodren? To hold his body against his, to move slowly in rhythm with the orchestra, to perhaps feel his breath against his own neck, where the collar was slightly loose?

“We should meet up with Josie,” Aodren eventually said and stretched his shoulders, getting him out of his thoughts. “Let’s hope she gives us the go-ahead to leave this place once and for all.”

“If I didn’t know you well, I would say you hated the evening more than I did,” Cullen teased.

The Dalish made a face.

“Please, I had to wear _shoes_.”

He knew, deep down, that he had feelings for Aodren; but never before the thought had been so clear in his mind.

“Shall we go?”

Maker, why did he already have a soulmate? Why couldn’t it be Aodren?

Each passing day after this felt like weeks; fortunately –oh, the irony of this- tracking Samson and red lyrium allowed him to put his feelings aside, even for a bit. Throwing himself into work was as good a solution as any to not think about Aodren, even if paradoxically it led them to see each other more often to talk about their progress. It was also heart-warming to see that the Inquisitor took Samson’s threat as seriously as he did.

And then, finally, they got a lead. When Aodren came to his office that morning, Cullen was feverish with anticipation.

“We have him, Inquisitor! We’ve found Samson’s lair,” he greeted the elf, showing him a map. “I know my duties usually keep me here, but I wish to come with you to catch him.”

“I’m looking forward to fighting by your side, Commander,” Aodren replied with a nod, his eyes serious despite his smile.

“As do I.”

The raid was quickly set up, and soon they were ready to go, Cassandra, Varric and Solas by their side. They all knew the importance of catching Samson, but Cullen could admit he was glad the Seeker was there, just in case, since lyrium was involved.

They fought their way in, defeating red Templars and horrors; they found an agonizing Maddox, still loyal to Samson, who had known they would come for him and had managed to flee. They all exchanged sorrowful looks when the Tranquil passed away, and they looked around for any clue about the man’s armour with heavy hearts. At least, Maddox’ tools hadn’t burnt with the rest of the supplies; they should be able to use them in a way or another.

Aodren briefly came next to Cullen, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ll catch him,” Cullen replied firmly. “I know we will.”

Aodren nodded and then walked away with a frown, something having caught his attention.

Then, too fast for any of them to understand what was happening, a silhouette emerged from a corner, a dagger in hand, and jumped on the Inquisitor. Like in a nightmare, they could do nothing but watch in horror Aodren stumble backwards, pressing a hand onto his side as his eyes were widening in surprise, and collapse on the ground with a choked cry. 

“Aodren!!”

Cullen couldn’t tell who moved first, but next thing he knew, he was at Aodren’s side, and Solas was frantically removing the leather belt to access the wound. A painful sound escaped the Dalish’s lips.

“I know, lethallin, I know,” Solas mumbled while uncovering the injury.

Feeling sick, Cullen vaguely heard Cassandra dealing with the rogue and Varric coming next to them, but his attention was focused on the elf laying on the ground. There was already so much blood on the tiling despite Solas’ healing magic. His gaze locked with Aodren’s; he took his hand in his, intertwining their fingers together. The Inquisitor’s eyes were heavy with pain, and seemed almost colourless.

Cullen froze.

His heart stopped beating for a second.

“Andraste’s tits, Curly! Don’t you faint on us; we already have a problem here!”

Varric voice was so far away, like a distant buzz.

Aodren’s eyes were greyish. His clothes were greyish. Everything around Cullen was greyish.

“It can’t be…” His voice was hoarse. “It can’t be…”

Having a soulmate was a gift, and turned your world into bright colours. But with their death, they would fade away, as a proof the other part of yourself was no longer.

Aodren was dying and the colours were fading around him.

Aodren was his soulmate.

A hand on his arm made him jerk, harshly bringing him back into reality. He raised his head to see Cassandra was trying to drag him away. She had a concerned look on her face and her jaw was tensed.

“Cullen, we need to give Solas some space.”

“I can’t leave him!” he protested.

“I know you are worried, but he needs to focus,” she insisted, lifting him up.

“No!” He tried to escape her grip, but he was shaking. “You don’t understand!”

“Curly, listen to her,” Varric stepped in.

“He’s my soulmate!”

Cassandra and Varric stood still, exchanging an astonished look.

“He is _what_?” she said, her tone almost high-pitched.

“I don’t understand either.” Every beating of his heart was a pain in his chest. “But colours are fading.”

“Maker…” Cassandra whispered, glancing towards the elves.

“And you didn’t know?” Varric asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Colours are fading,” Cullen repeated, his voice crumbling.

“But you still see them, right?” the dwarf insisted.

He nodded, his throat too tight for a proper answer. He could still see them, yes, but they were so dull, so greyish; it was terrifying.

“He’s not dead, Curly. And he is far too stubborn to give up on us.”

When he kneeled next to Aodren once again, neither of them stopped him. The elf had lost consciousness and his breathing was wet and painful. He took his hand back, bringing the limp fingers to his lips, and he closed his eyes.

“Please…” he prayed quietly. “Maker, please, don’t take him from me.”

He had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually Solas sat on his heels with a tired breathing out. They all looked at him with worry, but he simply gave Cullen a slight grin.

“How are your colours, Commander?”

They were almost as bright as before. Damn that elf; Cullen would never be able to thank him enough. Apparently, his face showed relief and gratitude enough, because the mage got up with a huff.

“I suggest we reach the nearest camp. The Inquisitor and I both need rest.”

Fortunately, it wasn’t far. Cullen carried Aodren all along, still shaken, and didn’t leave his side once he was settled in a tent despite Cassandra’s attempts to convince him to take some rest. He just… He couldn’t. He had almost lost him.

He stayed by his side all night, holding his hand, sometimes praying; but his thoughts were just a turmoil of incoherent feelings. He still couldn’t believe the elf was his soulmate; what about the lady on the coast? Did he have two soulmates? Maker, he was at a loss already with one, he couldn’t possibly have two.

He had eventually fallen asleep on his chair at some time, because a slight movement woke him up with a start. He caught sight of Aodren’s half-opened eyes, looking right at him. Their turquoise-blue colour was truly the most beautiful one he had ever seen. Cullen squeezed his hand gently, his heart beating loudly.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty sure I had a bad encounter with a pack of druffaloes,” the Inquisitor answered with a small smile, his voice hoarse. “You look terrible,” he added, frowning slightly.

“You almost died,” Cullen retorted, clenching his jaw.

“Sorry. That was not my intention.”

Aodren closed his eyes briefly, then laid them on their joined hands. Cullen shivered.

“I was terrified,” he admitted. “When I saw you fall on the ground, and you were bleeding so much… I really thought I was losing you.”

“Cullen…”

“I don’t understand how it happened,” he said quickly while he still had the courage to, “but I think you’re my soulmate.”

Aodren lifted his gaze abruptly, his eyes widening.

“I mean –I know you are,” Cullen rambled. “You were dying, and I almost lost colours, and I-”

“Cullen!” The Dalish interrupted him, trying to stand up a bit on the cot. “Cullen, breathe.”

“Don’t move,” he stopped the elf, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Solas will kill me if you hurt yourself further. Possibly Cassandra too.”

Aodren huffed, laying back down on the pillow. They stayed quiet for a few seconds, then the Dalish whispered:

“You told me you already had a soulmate.”

“I do,” Cullen sighed. “But the truth is I don’t know anything about her.”

Aodren raised an eyebrow, making him chuckle weakly.

“It’s ridiculous, I know, but she ran away when I met her. I didn’t even have enough time to see her face, I literally don’t know what she looks like.”

The elf blinked, then asked, his voice tight and quiet:

“Was it during your time at Kirkwall?”

“How do you know that?” Cullen replied, frowning.

Aodren hid his face behind his free hand, suddenly laughing in disbelief.

“We’re both so stupid, I can’t believe it,” he groaned. “Cullen, it wasn’t a woman.”

“… What?”

“I used to have long hair.” The elf let his hand fall back on the mattress. “My clan was nearby Kirkwall for a short period of time. I wasn’t supposed to go that far from our aravels, but I doubted any patrols would come there.”

Cullen could do nothing but stare at him in shock as realisation dawned on him.

“It was you…?” he eventually croaked.

Aodren swallowed hard, biting his lips nervously.

“Nice to meet you,” he answered with a false cheerful voice.

“But… Why did you run?” Cullen shook his head in confusion.

Aodren sighed, looking away briefly.

“Cullen, I’ve been taught all my life to be warry of humans, especially Templars. How do you think a Dalish mage would react? I got scared, so I ran. I realised what had happened when I got back to my clan, but we left before I had the chance to go to the coast again. Imagine my surprise when Cassandra introduced us years later,” he concluded, giving him a glance.

“Yet you said nothing.”

“You didn’t seem to recognize me,” the elf retorted. “I thought it was on purpose, at first, so I chose to stay silent. But then, you told me you had a soulmate, and the only thing I could think of was that the world truly had a grudge against me.”

Cullen felt his shoulders slump.

“… I spent these past months ashamed of loving you while I already had a soulmate, and it was you all along.” He brought Aodren’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently. “Maker.”

“ _Fenedhis_ , the others won’t let us live in peace when they’ll learn about that,” Aodren complained.

Cullen chuckled. He had never been so relieved before.

“For once, I think we deserve it.”

When they emerged from the tent some time later, Aodren walking carefully and Cullen holding his hand, they learnt thanks to Varric that Cassandra had found them asleep in each other’s arms at some point.

“Oh I wish I had a device to record voices, her coo was delightful.”

“Keep your mouth shut, dwarf!”

Solas quickly checked Aodren’s wound; the flesh was still very tender, but the injury was healing nicely.

“ _Ma serannas, hahren_ ,” the Dalish thanked him while putting his clothes back on.

“You scared us, Inquisitor,” Solas answered. “Someone more than others, if I may add.”

The elf’s smug comment marked the beginning of an endless teasing. Cassandra was torn between being mad at them or moved, and Varric wore a huge grin during their trip back to Skyhold. Of course, the news quickly spread to their companions; Leliana already knew, thanks to her spies, but the others’ reactions were priceless.

Dorian was absolutely pissed.

“So, if I understand correctly, you’ve been rooting and pining for each other for _months_ and it took a near death experience for you two to realise you were soulmates, when you could have simply talked about your feelings. Did I miss something?”

“That’s a good summary,” Aodren answered, the reddish tip of his ears proving he was not as much at ease as he pretended to be.

“You forgot the part in which they are both incredibly stupid,” Cassandra groaned.

“That was obviously implied, but thank you for pointing it out.”

In all honesty, Cullen didn’t really mind the comments and teasing; the certainty he would spend the rest of his life being able to look at Aodren’s blue eyes was absolutely worth it.


End file.
